


Second Chances

by callboxkat



Series: Second Chances [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Exhaustion, Food mention, Gen, Homelessness, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Injuries, Implied homophobia, M/M, Prejudice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 10:46:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15906720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callboxkat/pseuds/callboxkat
Summary: Roman, a young homeless man just trying to get through life, has recently been ousted from the shelter he was staying at and left to fend for himself on the streets. When a former high school rival reaches out to help him, he's skeptical, to say the least.





	Second Chances

“Hey, you, wake up.”

Roman groaned groggily, turning over on the bench and pressing his face into the jacket that served as his pillow.

“I said, _get up_!” A hand fastened itself on Roman’s shoulder and shook him harshly, startling him fully awake.

“Wha—?” Roman stammered as he sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes. It was dark out, not even dawn, but he could make out the silhouette of a large figure in front of him. “Ahhh!” He cried out, pulling back in surprise.

A light suddenly blazed, momentarily blinding Roman, who threw up his arm to block the light.

“Calm down already, I’m a cop. I don’t want to have to arrest you.”

Roman froze where he was. He wasn’t sure what exactly he might have done to warrant arrest, but while prison would mean he had food and somewhere to sleep, he knew that having a prison record would only make things worse for himself.

“Do you know why I’m here?”

Roman coughed. “Uh—no, sir,” he said, very slowly lowering his arm and squinting in the light, which he finally realized was the policeman’s flashlight.

“You can’t sleep here. It’s a public park. You’re disturbing the peace.”

Roman glanced around outside the gazebo he had been sleeping in at the surrounding area: a very much empty park. He couldn’t exactly ask whose peace he was supposedly disturbing, though, without making the cop angry. Roman knew better than that. So instead, he said something else.

“I—uh, I don’t have anywhere else to go,” he admitted.

The cop regarded him skeptically. “There’s a homeless shelter downtown. Fifteenth Avenue. Go there.”

“It’s full,” Roman said. He’d been kicked out a week prior. He hadn’t been the latest to arrive, but he knew why he was one of the first ones kicked out. He was neither under 20 nor over retirement age, and he didn’t have a disability that kept him from working. It probably didn’t exactly help that he was gay, and the mostly conservative Christian shelter staff knew it.

“Look, kid, I still can’t let you stay,” the policeman said, having clearly made up his mind before even waking Roman up.

Roman didn’t understand why this was suddenly a problem. He’d spent the last six nights in this exact spot, and there hadn’t been any issue until… wait.

“There’s an event going on next week, isn’t there?” Roman commented, thinking aloud. “For Independence Day?” The cop didn’t visibly react, but Roman knew he was right. He’d seen the fliers around. They were kicking him out because the city didn’t want the image of their pristine, beautiful public park sullied by his presence.

It wasn’t fair, but Roman knew he had no choice. So, he just nodded in resignation, and started to gather his things.

…

Roman grit his teeth as he ruffled through the trash bag, searching for anything he might be able to use. Highest on his list of priorities were food and a new pair of socks, but he wouldn’t say no to a few other items. Plenty of people threw things away simply because they didn’t need or want them, so Roman often found things that were still in excellent condition. Sometimes he even found packages that hadn’t even been opened, or food items that had been thrown away just because whatever it was happened to be a couple of days past its expiration date. It wasn’t as if the food suddenly became inedible once that date arrived.

Roman pulled out a half-empty tube of toothpaste. _Score_. He put it in his pocket and kept looking. Maybe this person was the type to throw out other half-used items.

If he were perfectly honest, Roman wasn’t usually desperate enough to go digging through other people’s trash. But after the recent changes in his living situation, Roman’s life had gotten less stable than usual.

Granted, the owner of a nearby gas station had taken pity on him and was letting him use their restrooms free of charge (the woman usually required that a purchase be made), so he had reliable access to water and soap and the like, but Roman would still kill for some dry shampoo. He didn’t seem likely to get a shower any time soon unless it rained or something.

Roman didn’t have any more luck with that particular trashcan, so he moved on further down the block, ignoring the way he kept listing to either side with exhaustion. With nowhere to sleep, he’d mostly been wandering the streets the past several nights **,** catching uneasy naps in alleyways or underpasses that didn't exactly scream _safety_. He stopped when he came across another relatively clean looking bin. He glanced around, and upon not seeing anyone, flipped the lid open and began his search.

“Excuse me, but what are you doing?”

Roman jumped in surprise, and the lid fell shut with a loud _thump_. He found himself and the clear owner of the trashcan staring at each other across the lawn. “Um, I was…” Roman didn’t really know how to explain this. He knew his cheeks were probably burning with embarrassment and shame. But before he could stammer out a nonsense excuse and bolt, the other man spoke.

“Wait a second… _Roman?_ ”

“Oh, sh*t,” Roman said, suddenly hit with a similar realization. “…Hi, Logan.”

…

Logan walked towards the man. He had not seen the other since high school graduation, but rather than feeling joy at their reunion, Logan was mostly just confused. To be fair, he and Roman hadn’t exactly been friends back then. Having still not received an answer to his question, Logan repeated it. “May I ask what you are doing with my refuse? While it is not illegal to look through bins once they are left on the curb, I must point out that it is an unusual action to undertake.”

“God, you still sound like a robot,” was all he got in response.

Logan frowned, drawing his eyebrows together. They just stared at each other for a second. Logan took the opportunity to properly take in his former classmate.

Roman looked like… a mess. His hair, while as neatly combed as Logan remembered it being, was in desperate need of a wash. He was wearing a faux leather jacket that had clearly seen better days, a pair of jeans that were an inch or two too short for him, and a pair of shoes that had several holes through which Logan swore he could see Roman’s socks. There was stubble on the former theatre star’s chin, and a black smudge on his cheek that he probably didn’t know was there. There were shadows under his eyes, making Logan wonder when the last time he got a decent night’s rest had been. He looked about ten years older than Logan knew he actually was.

Logan came to the most logical, and even he had to admit, most obvious, conclusion: Roman was homeless. He took a moment to consider his options.

“Why don’t you come in,” he finally said.

Roman frowned. “What?”

“Come in,” Logan repeated. “Bring your things. I’ll make you something to eat.” Logan walked back inside, leaving no room for a response. Roman would either follow him, or he wouldn’t.

…

Roman watched as the other man turned and headed back inside, leaving the door open behind him. He knew Logan expected him to follow.

He glanced back at the trashcan, debating. He could just leave, find somewhere else to scavenge, and make sure to never return to this area. Roman didn’t want to give Logan the satisfaction of seeing him this way.

But at the possibility of food, his stomach had started growling petulantly.

Hanging his head meekly in defeat, Roman picked up the pink backpack and plastic bag that held all of his belongings, and he walked up to the house.

He stepped hesitantly through the doorway, feeling very much self-aware and out of place in the space. He carefully shut the door behind him and looked around. It was a pretty simple, almost minimalistic home he found himself in. There were a few more homey touches such as photographs, mementos, and the like, but overall, it was a very calm atmosphere. Whites and grays and blues and pale browns. Very neat and orderly. Very clean. Roman looked down at his own shirt, stubbornly stained no matter how much he washed it, its once vibrant color now dull and desaturated. He didn’t belong here.

“Sit down.”

Roman looked up to see Logan peering at him through a short hall that presumably led to the kitchen. He awkwardly shuffled over to a couch in the front room and sat down on it. As soon as he was off his feet, they started to ache fiercely, as if complaining about how long he had been standing. And while he had been on his feet quite a lot in the past couple of weeks, Roman wished they wouldn’t be so dramatic.

Roman could hear Logan moving about in the other room. He heard the sound of pots and pans being moved around and then the stove being turned on. He wondered if he should go in and offer help, but Roman couldn’t see why Logan would want his filth in the kitchen. Besides, a deep ache was settling in over Roman’s bones now that he had a chance to sit down, and the exhaustion of the past few sleepless nights seemed to choose that moment to catch up with him.

Roman shifted sideways so he was more or less laying down on the sofa, shoving a pillow that was probably meant to just be decorative under his head. He made sure that his feet stayed off of the sofa. He was still wearing his shoes, after all, and while he may have been homeless, Roman wasn’t an animal. It couldn’t hurt to relax a little bit, just until Logan came back, right?

He looked up at the off-white ceiling of Logan’s house, listening to the other man cook. His eyelids were growing heavy, but he fought off sleep. Logan had invited him to eat, not to stay. Roman couldn’t overstay his welcome, especially not with someone like Logan.

Even if this sofa _was_ really soft….

…

A few minutes later, Logan came back into the living room holding a bowl of chicken noodle soup. He approached the sofa where he had left Roman, holding out the bowl as he neared. Logan paused then, noticing that the homeless man had apparently fallen asleep. He was mostly laying down, one foot still on the floor at his side and the other leg bent to keep his shoe from touching the furniture. His eyes were shut, his breathing slow.

“Roman,” Logan said. He got no response, so he stepped closer. “Roman,” he repeated, his volume slightly raised.

Still nothing. Roman must have been even more exhausted than Logan initially thought. He shrugged to himself and brought the bowl back into the kitchen. He’d just warm it back up when Roman awoke.

He set the bowl down on the countertop, glancing at the digital clock above the stove. It was barely two in the afternoon. He tapped his fingers momentarily against the cool granite, and then went back out into the other room. He sat down at the end of the sofa, at Roman’s feet, and started untying his shoes.

…

Roman opened bleary eyes, unsure what had woken him. He turned his head, slightly disoriented, and his gaze fell on a figure seated nearby: Logan. Roman suddenly remembered where he was, and he wanted to kick himself. He really hadn’t meant to fall asleep!

Logan hadn’t noticed he was awake yet, tapping away on the keyboard of his laptop. The lights in the room were off, but it must have still been daytime given the amount of light that remained in the space.

Logan looked up then, locking eyes with his guest, and his eyebrows went up slightly in surprise. He closed his laptop. “Would you like that soup now?” he asked.

Roman awkwardly sat up, noting that he had been covered with a blanket at some point, and his shoes were on the floor at his side. He swallowed, then nodded without meeting Logan’s eyes. He heard footsteps, then the sound of the stove turning on as Logan prepared to reheat his meal.

Roman hadn’t had anything hot to eat in the past week—mostly just snack foods he’d found, been given by more compassionate strangers or that he had, um, _borrowed_. His stomach started whining pitifully again, and he shot it a reproachful glare.

Logan came back with a bowl of soup and handed it to Roman.

“Um, don’t you want me to go eat this in the dining room or something?” he asked.

“Under normal circumstances, I would, but I saw the state of your feet when I removed your shoes,” Logan said, folding his arms.

Okay, that was fair.

Roman shrugged and started eating. He finished the soup in about two minutes. Logan, who had been fiddling around with his phone during this time, took the bowl back from him and went to clean it.

Roman didn’t understand why Logan was doing this. He was just a random homeless guy who’d been digging through his trash. Well, not quite a _random_ homeless guy. It was a bit worse than that, at least from Roman’s perspective. Logan probably got a lot of satisfaction out of seeing him like this.

Roman and Logan hadn’t exactly been friends in high school. If anything, they were enemies. Everything Logan did had annoyed Roman to no end, and everything Roman did had seemed to exasperate Logan. Most of their conversations, when they did occur, had devolved to name-calling. One such conversation occurred when Roman, the high school’s biggest theatre star, was trying to put together a production on a screenplay of his, and the dramaturg Logan was pointing out some of historical and logical flaws with his writing:

“I see, I point out a few errors in your manuscript and you lash out like a little bratty baby.”

“Well, Geek Squad, at least _I’m_ not a squadless geek!” Roman had retorted, face reddening. “You’re _alone_!”

“Just consider my revisions, you quixotic, quarrelsome, quaa….” Logan had clearly been a bit thrown off by that particular insult, and he had not been good at nicknames to begin with.

“My writing is perfect, you nerd!”

“Prep!"

Like many of their yelling matches that were witnessed by large groups of people (say, just about the entire theatre department), that particular incident had resulted in detentions for them both.

Their relationship had not been the best, to say the least.

…

Roman wasn’t sure what to do now.

Logan had returned from washing the dishes, and he was just at work on his laptop. Completely ignoring Roman. He glanced around a bit, then looked back towards Logan.

“Should I go?” he asked awkwardly.

“If that is what you desire to do, I won’t stop you,” Logan said. “But you may stay if you so desire.”

Roman stared at him a moment, then suddenly growled in his throat. “Why are you doing this? I don’t understand! It’s not like we’re friends!” he cried, feeling his cheeks redden as his voice cracked.

Logan paused his typing at Roman’s change of tone, then very slowly closed his laptop. “Is it so hard to believe that I simply want to?”

“You barely know me, we haven’t seen each other in five years, and in high school—,”

“High school was half a decade ago,” Logan interrupted. He set his laptop to the side. “Now, I would be happy to discuss this further with you, but you still look as if you could fall asleep at any moment. Our talk can wait until later tonight, or tomorrow. You may stay here, on my sofa, if you would like. I am going to finish up my work in my office.” Logan stood up, packing his laptop under his arm. He started out of the room, then paused. “The bathroom is just there, first door on the left,” he said, pointing down the hall. “I hope you will reciprocate my respect for and trust in you by not making off with any of my belongings,” he added, apparently as an afterthought, before finally retreating.

Roman stared after him.

…

Eventually, Roman decided to stay. Logan had invited him in, after all, and even if this was some elaborate prank to get him kicked out for trespassing or something, the couch was just too tempting. Maybe he could get a little more sleep before the other shoe dropped.

Too tired to consider his options any more thoroughly than that, and honestly not willing to get back up on his feet just yet, Roman lay back down on the sofa. He pulled Logan’s soft, clean blanket around his own disgusting shoulders, closed his eyes, and let himself be dragged back down into sleep.

…

Roman swore he could hear voices.

“…a _homeless man_ in the _living room_!”

“Yes, there is. And I would appreciate it if you would lower your voice. The man to whom you refer is currently asleep, and I would prefer that you allow him to remain that way.”

“Logan, how do you not see the issue here?”

“Why does it matter if he’s homeless, Val?”

“Why does it matter? He could—.”

The voice broke off as Roman shifted. He was starting to think that this wasn’t a part of his dream. Waking up enough to be self-conscious, he turned onto his side and snuggled into the back of the couch, partly in an attempt to hide his face from view.

The voices picked up again a moment later, now whispering harshly at each other.

“He could be crazy! Or a burglar, taking advantage of you!” the other quarreler, a woman, was saying.

“That is not what’s happening here. Besides, he and I are already acquainted.”

“…You know him? So, he’s your friend?”

“I’m not sure ‘friend’ is the most correct term for our relationship. We knew each other in high school.”

At this point, Roman was just pretending to still be asleep so that he didn’t have to deal with what was clearly an argument about whether or not he should get to be there.

“That was what, six years ago?”

“Five. And I’ve already made up my mind about this. I’m not kicking him out. You don’t have to stay here tonight if you don’t want to.”

Roman didn’t know who this lady Logan was arguing with was, but it surprised him to hear that Logan was more willing to upset her than to kick him out. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

A set of footsteps retreated from the room, and Roman heard the door open and shut. He heard a sigh, then Logan’s much softer footsteps coming into the room. Hearing the muffled thump of Logan sitting down on the living room’s other sofa, Roman rolled back over to face him.

“Who was that woman?” he asked.

Logan, who had been reaching for his laptop, paused and looked up at him. “My sister, Valerie,” he responded.

“She lives here?”

“…Yes,” Logan said, looking confused.

“Oh.”

Logan let his arm drop back at his side, leaving the laptop untouched for now. “Would you like to take a shower?” he suddenly asked.

God, _yes,_ Roman would absolutely _love_ a shower. He sat up, letting Logan’s blanket fall back from his shoulders in a soft bundle at his waist. Suddenly aware of how eager he had probably just looked, Roman felt his face heat up. “If that’s okay with you, I wouldn’t say no,” he said awkwardly.

Logan gave a terse nod and stood. “I shall fetch you a towel and some clean clothes. Some of my things should fit you.”

Roman started to get up. “Wait, I—.”

“I would prefer it if you wore clean clothes, Roman,” Logan said, leaving no room to argue.

…

Roman stood under the hot spray, eyes closed, just letting the water carry away the scum and dirt and self-loathing that came with his life as of late. He wanted to stay there forever. But eventually, he knew he had to get out.

He stepped out of the shower, and some of the freeing feeling of finally getting a hot shower was dampened by how he smelled of Logan’s shampoo, was using Logan’s towel, and was getting dressed in Logan’s clothes. Roman’s shoulders were a bit wider than Logan’s, but the clothes still hung loosely on his frame. He wasn’t as filled-out as he had once been.

He waited until last to put on the socks. He had to psych himself up to it. It had been tough enough getting off his old ones, full of holes and basically falling apart though they were. He finally pulled them on—soft, thick, and still snow white. Roman only winced minutely as he did so. He glanced over at the pile of his own clothes on the floor. They looked like a pile of rags. Something to be tossed away.

He heard a voice call from elsewhere in the house. “Are you okay in there, Roman?”

Roman adjusted how Logan’s dark gray polo sat around his shoulders, then cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m fine,” he answered. He opened the door and padded back towards the living room. Logan was… what was he doing?

“Are you _steam cleaning_ the sofa?” Roman asked, affronted.

“Yes,” Logan replied, still focused on what he was doing.

Okay, Roman had to agree that he hadn’t been the cleanest thing Logan could have possibly invited into his home, but this was just insulting. “Are you going to burn my clothes, too?” he asked.

“I hadn’t planned to,” Logan said, starting to look annoyed himself. “Although I can’t say I oppose the idea.” He turned off the vacuum, finally looking up. Something must have shown in Roman’s expression, because the annoyance in his eyes softened somewhat. In the absence of the vacuum’s whirring, a heavy silence stretched between them.

“You still have that thing about germs, right?” Roman guessed finally. The nerd had been quite the germaphobe in high school; Roman had nearly forgotten.

Logan nodded.

“Well—then— _why invite me here_? Why are you helping me?” Roman asked, exasperated, throwing his arms out wide. He did not understand! Logan wasn’t his friend, why be so kind to him? He could feel frustrated tears threatening to come, but Roman could be pretty stubborn when he wanted to be. He kept them at bay.

Logan turned and faced Roman directly. “I saw someone in need, and I wanted to help. I don’t care about high school. You needed help—you still do—and I was there. Okay?”

“But, why?”

Logan passed a hand over his face. “If we’re having this conversation now, would you sit down, please?”

Roman did.

Logan took a deep breath and let it out. “The truth is, it’s because of my boyfriend.”

Roman took a half-second to absorb the new information that Logan was also gay (or at least, liked men). But mostly, he was just confused. “What would your boyfriend have to do with anything?”

“He was homeless as a teenager. And despite that, perhaps even because of that, he is one of the most compassionate, kind, and generous people I’ve ever met.”

Roman ran a hand through his damp hair. “But—but I’m not him,” he said.

“I know that. And I know that you and he are very different. But Patton, my boyfriend, once told me about a woman who helped him and his mother out during these very tough times. He claimed to believe that this woman was why he and his mother made it that year.”

Roman noticed that Logan had clasped his hands together and was looking down at them.

“This woman was apparently someone from whom Patton’s mother had stolen quite a bit of money from in the past—she had needed it, of course, at the time, and would not have done so otherwise. But the woman knew of the theft, and not only did she not turn in Patton’s mother, but she helped them when she didn’t have to.” Logan paused to straighten his glasses.

“I saw you this afternoon, and I remembered that story. We were not friends in high school. This is the truth. Both of us—not just you—behaved towards each other in a regrettable manner. But even if it had only been a one-sided feud… Why should you not also be given a second chance?”

…

In the end, Logan convinced Roman to stay with him for the time being, at least until he got a job and somewhere else to stay.

“I know your presence will not bother Patton. He’ll be quite happy to meet you, once he gets back from class—he is studying to be a veterinarian—although I must warn you ahead of time: he is a hugger.” Logan smiled apologetically, although that didn’t sound like a bad thing to Roman. “I know Valerie was less eager, but if your presence truly bothers my sister, she can stay with a friend. I’m sure she will change her mind, either way, eventually. It is not an issue.”

“So… you just want me to camp out on your sofa? Some guy you hated five years ago?” Roman raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll stay in the guest room.”


End file.
